"Brian! What ARE you doing?" Justin glared at his partner, blue eyes flashing in irritation as he placed his hands on his hips and stared at the sight in front of him. Brian was standing at the counter, rapping his palm gently but firmly against an egg as Justin winced. Any second now the fragile covering would shatter into a tiny little pieces and he knew what THAT meant – he would be spending the next hour of an already too-busy schedule trying to pick up little white fragments of eggshell off the kitchen floor. "Stop that!" he growled as pounced over to his partner's side and snatched the egg away from the brunet.

Brian turned to look at Justin with an innocent expression on his face. "What's the problem?" He picked up the laminated recipe page lying on the counter next to him. "It says 'two eggs, beaten.' I'm just following the recipe. I just thought it'd be a little too kinky if I tried both at once. Even I have my standards."

Justin pursed his lips together, trying hard to not to laugh. It was funny, but then again, it wasn't funny. Okay, it was…but he was already pressed for time. Any more unnecessary delays this morning and his schedule would be hopelessly behind. This was the first time he and Brian were spending Thanksgiving at Britin, and he had decided to do it up right by fixing a complete dinner for not only the two of them, but the rest of their family: his mom and his sister, Daphne, Debbie & Carl, Em & Drew, Ted & Blake, and Michael, Ben, and Hunter. Just because there was going to be a total of fourteen people didn't mean he was stressed out; no, he was extremely stressed out. And Brian's little attempt at slapstick humor wasn't sitting too well with him at the moment.

"Just never mind," Justin said, shaking his head. "I'LL take care of disciplining the eggs." As Brian grinned back at him, Justin gave him a small push and said, "Go get the other ingredients out of the fridge, okay?"

Brian saluted him snappily. "Yes, Chef!" he acknowledged, grinning once more as he made a pretty damned good impression of a reality show cooking contestant and spun around on his heels to head toward the refrigerator.

Justin rolled his eyes, questioning once more why he had thought it would be a good idea to ask Brian to help him fix some of the side dishes this morning. How could a simple recipe such as a sweet potato casserole turn into a potential catastrophe? He watched warily as Brian finished marching over to the refrigerator and swung the door open to retrieve some heavy cream and milk.

"COME out, COME out wherever you are," he sing-songed, as he reached in to retrieve the two dairy items.

Justin shook his head; leave it to Brian to associate even perishable goods with sex. He glanced once more over at Brian warily before he decided he'd better get back to concentrating on preparing the turkey; the 25-lb. beast was currently resting on top of its roasting pan, waiting to be prepped for cooking.

He managed to forget about Brian for a few seconds as he concentrated on what he needed to do to get the turkey ready. He had decided to prepare a stuffing to be placed inside the turkey's cavity while it was roasting to enhance the flavor, and was diligently trying to follow the instructions he had printed off the internet. His attempts at trying to concentrate, however, were instantly dashed as he heard a smacking sound coming from behind him. Steeling himself for what his partner was up to NOW, he slowly turned around in dread.

"What the fuck? Brian, what are you doing NOW?" Brian had the carton of heavy cream and was hitting it with a cattails. Where the man had managed to get it from was a mystery to him; the last time Justin had seen it, it had been in one of their bedroom drawers upstairs.

"The recipe says it needs to be whipped," Brian offered helpfully, curling his lips under impertinently.

Justin, however, was not amused. "Brian! Will you fucking STOP with the food BDSM? I'm trying to get ready for a crowd here and you're fucking around with the food‼ Now either help me out or get out of the way – I don't have time for both‼"

Brian glared at him for a few seconds before raising his hands in surrender. "My, My," he clucked, "SOME one got up on the wrong side of the bed. It's not MY fault we only had time for one fuck this morning because you insisted on getting up at the crack of dawn to play Julia Childs! Okay, okay…..what do you want me to do NOW?"

Justin sighed in exasperation. He was almost afraid to ask Brian to do anything further, but he really needed the help. "All right, you can help me while I stuff the bird – at least this should be right up your alley. Come over here and hold his legs apart so I can work."

Brian grinned. "NOW you're talking – I should be really good at this." He walked over to stand next to Justin. "Well, I'm glad it's a he, since I don't do pussy." He reached down and grabbed the two turkey legs, pulling them as far apart as possible. "See? It pays to ask the expert."

Justin rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should let you ram the stuffing inside, too, then. You're an expert at that, also."

"Why, thank you for the weird compliment, Sunshine, but I draw the line when it comes to poking my fingers inside a turkey's ass. I much prefer yours."

"I figured that'd be your response." He picked up a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on before reaching over to the large bowl of prepared stuffing and picking up a large glob in both hands. "Okay, then. Just keep doing what you know best and keep Tom's legs spread apart so I have room to work."

"Yes, Doctor," Brian replied solemnly with a twinkle in his eye. When he had been forced to get out of bed much too early for his liking this morning, only half-sated from just one fucking, he had been quite cranky. But oddly enough, now he was finding that he was actually enjoying himself immensely. The look on his partner's adorable face at the moment was just priceless. "Sure you don't need a condom? You don't know where that bird's been."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Justin told him, "I already have adequate protection. Just don't let go of his legs, okay?

"Maybe I should swing them over my shoulders."

"Ha, ha…..Just a little more," he said as he reached over for the last mass of dressing and pushed it inside the turkey's body cavity with a grunt.

"He's not very tight, is he?" Brian observed. "What a loser."

"Brian," Justin chuckled. He just couldn't help it – it was all too funny, even HE could see it. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

Brian peered down at his partner in mock indignation. "I beg your pardon, Doctor?"

Justin grinned. "You heard me," he said, before he leaned up on his tiptoes to place a kiss on Brian's lips. He started to deepen the kiss as his hands reached for Brian's shoulders to steady himself, but the brunet abruptly pulled away from him.

"Oh, no, Sunshine," Brian said, capturing the slender wrists in his hands. "Not with all that turkey gruel all over your hands. Take them off."

"Where have I heard that before?" Justin asked; he hurried to comply as he pulled the gloves off and opened a nearby cabinet to dispose of them in the trash. "Now where were we?"

"Please…not in front of the bird," Brian replied.

Justin rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Open the door for me."

As Brian held the oven door open, Justin picked up the heavy metal pan and slowly slid the bird inside.

"Better?" He asked.

Brian grasped Justin's shoulders before saying, "Much. He was staring at me." His right hand slid around Justin's neck to feather the soft hair at his nape before his lips plunged into the welcoming mouth of his lover. Appreciative moans and sighs were the only sounds coming from the kitchen for several seconds except for the timer, slowly ticking off the minutes until Justin's first Thanksgiving turkey would be finished.

Justin reluctantly pulled back a little later to end their kiss, sighing in contentment. "Thank goodness you're such a good kisser," he whispered somewhat breathlessly. "Because you sure don't know how to follow a recipe very well."

Brian responded huskily, "That depends on the ingredients. Personally, I prefer recipes that include a particular type of sweet cream. Maybe I could do a little whipping with it later."

Justin's face flushed at the thought and his heart began to pick up speed as it did flip-flops, just like it always did when Brian looked at him the way he was looking at him right now. "Yeah, maybe you can," he said softly before he gave Brian a slight shove. "But first I have to survive this morning. Why don't I continue the cooking and you go relax for a while?"

Brian huffed. He knew somewhere in there, there was a so I can get you out of my hair left unfinished. "If I didn't know better, Sunshine, I'd say you were trying to get rid of me."

"Now how could you think that?" Justin answered soothingly. "Just because you've tried to get kinky with all the food?"

"It's not MY fault every recipe calls for either whipping or beating – what am I supposed to think?"

Justin laughed softly. "Well, I suppose you have a point there. Okay….you want one more shot? I could use the help, at least until Debbie gets here. I was trying not to have to involve her, but no matter how much I do between now and when she arrives, I'm sure I'll still need her help. But if you promise to behave and do as I ask, it would save me from spending the rest of the morning in the kitchen, and it might free me up for another quick fuck in the shower."

"Oh, well, in that case - you got my attention." Brian drew an imaginary "x" across his chestl "Cross my heart, Chef," he replied solemnly. "What do you want me to do?"

Justin bit his lip in thought. "Well, I was going to fix a Waldorf salad. The ingredients are already cut up in the refrigerator in a big mixing bowl. It's covered with Reynolds wrap. All I need for you to do is to mix up the dressing and pour it over it. The recipe's over on the refrigerator door. Can you do that?" He was silently hoping this wasn't going to be yet another disaster, but he was holding out hope that Brian could still be rehabilitated somehow.

"Aye, aye, Chef!" Brian replied, as he once again saluted Justin and walked over to the refrigerator. As the blond turned back to the nearby counter to begin preparing the cranberry relish, he jumped from a sudden noise behind him and cringed as he heard Brian saying, "Oops."

"Oops?" Justin took a deep breath to calm himself before slowing turning around. "Brian!" He sucked in a breath of aggravation as he observed a rather large pool of white liquid slowly creating rivulets on the brick tiled floor.

"Now, don't go crying over spilled milk, Sunshine," he chided his partner. "We've got the quicker picker upper." He reached over to pull a large swath of paper from the roll hanging below a nearby cabinet and began to walk back to the rapidly-increasing mess.

Justin huffed in exasperation. "Just forget it!" he snapped, his patience finally evaporated. "Just go get the fucking paper out of the driveway and GO SIT DOWN before I have to go back to the grocery and restock our entire inventory‼"

Brian glared at him just before he threw the white, crumpled mess down on the kitchen counter. "Well, ex-cuuuse me, Mr. Epicurean Expert!" He stomped over to the coffeemaker and, flinging open the overhead cabinet door, took down his favorite ceramic mug inscribed with the words, My Stud Is Harder Than Yours, and quickly threw some black coffee and a little sugar into it. Grabbing the mug, he walked over to the hallway long enough to turn and say, "If you need me, Chef, I'll be in the library with my feet propped up in the leather recliner, reading the paper and leisurely drinking my coffee!"

As Brian turned and trudged down the hallway toward the front door, Justin sighed in disgust. His lofty, grandiose idea of preparing a wonderful Thanksgiving meal for their "family" was quickly disintegrating into a full-blown fiasco. "Maybe I should have just skipped the damn paper idea," he muttered to himself as he turned back around to survey the sticky, white mess slowly congealing on the floor. Shaking his head, he walked over to kneel down in front of it to begin mopping up the mess with the paper towels.

"Shit!" Brian growled, as he reached down to pick up the enormous paper from the end of the driveway. "What in the hell is IN this paper? A reprint of War and Peace?" He couldn't believe how heavy the paper was – he knew there were typically tons of sale papers inserted inside it for Black Friday, but this was ridiculous. He briefly considered just leaving the damned paper where it lay, but his morning addiction (well, one of them, anyway) to relax for a little while as he read the paper and drunk his coffee before beginning his day won out over his fear of receiving a hernia from the weight of it, so reluctantly he pulled the rolled paper up with the plastic knot tied at the end of the bag and began to slowly walk back up the long driveway toward the front door.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him and listened for any sign of his perturbed Picasso. He could hear an occasional clink of silverware or clang of bowls being used, but other than that, it was quiet. He felt just a little guilty over his lack of decorum earlier, but really – did Justin actually think he was meant to be a cook's helper? I mean, the man should have known better – Brian Kinney and the kitchen just didn't mix, and he was so above such trivial matters. Of course, there would have been a time not so long ago that Justin and the kitchen didn't mix, either, but since the jambalaya salad disaster a few years ago, his partner had actually turned into a pretty decent cook – and thankfully, a less messy one, too.

He sighed, deciding it was best that he just stay out of the other man's way – and his wrath – for now. Pulling the plastic off the paper and throwing it in a nearby garbage can, he grabbed the coffee mug he had left lying by the front door on the foyer table and walked over to the first archway on his right to enter the library. Spying his favorite chair – a large, dark brown leather, oversized monstrosity that reclined – he eagerly walked over to sit down in it. "Ahh," he sighed in contentment, as he placed his coffee mug down on the small table next to it and pulled the recliner's handle to prop his feet up on the ottoman Placing the heavy paper on his lap, he took a deep breath before taking a sip of his coffee. "Now this is more like it," he proclaimed, as he felt the fire that was blazing nearby warming his body as well as his spirit.

He quickly separated the sale inserts from the rest of the paper, noting with disdain that after removing them, the paper was quite miniscule. Shaking his head at the absurdity, he picked up the front part of the paper, noticing a color display on the front advertising the paper's yearly turkey decorating contest winners located inside. "Oh, brother," he muttered to himself. "How quaintly bucolic."

For the next several minutes, he forgot about his earlier miscues in the kitchen as he became absorbed in reading the headlines, and then the local news. He snickered at the police listings – around here, the biggest problems seemed to be either missing cattle or jaywalking.

At last, he came to the Life Section, which contained the advice column, comics, television listings and other items. Today's paper also included the aforementioned turkey contest winners, who had all been required to start with the same printed picture of a turkey from an earlier edition of the paper and dress each of their own drawings in a unique way. The winner received a free yearly subscription to the paper for their efforts.

The middle two pages of the section contained numerous turkeys, all dressed up in a myriad of outfits – there were the obligatory Steeler Turkeys, Presidential Turkeys, and Movie Star Turkeys. There were several winners listed, one for each age group, along with other runners-up. He quickly studied the variety of ways in which the turkeys had been prepared, snorting at how desperate these people must have been to resort to using Crayolas to get their kicks, when his eyes finally lit on a large, skillfully designed turkey at the very bottom.

This turkey had been given special treatment; there was actually a small article written next to it with the headline "New Twist in Turkey Contest." The article described how this particular turkey was very unique and how the contest had never had this same type of version done in all the 30 years they had been conducting it.

The moment his eyes settled on the rather large color rendition of Tom Turkey, Brian instantly recognized the artist. This turkey was quite dapper. He was dressed in a black tuxedo with a top hat. In his right claw were half a dozen red roses, while in his right he held a large, opened velvet box with two gleaming, gold bands sticking out of it. At the very bottom were scrawled the words in flowing script, "Brian, Will you marry me?"

Brian's eyes widened in stunned surprise. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, wanting to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He and Justin had decided ultimately to reside at Britin after his soul mate had sought artistic success in New York. He had given it a good try – Justin had been there for almost a year – before he decided he didn't have the inspiration he really had been needing all along: a life with Brian. Without him, he would never be happy, no matter how successful his art was. Three months ago, to Brian's immense relief and pleasure, Justin had decided to come home for good. Since then, Brian had to admit, they had been very happy together, and his life finally felt complete once again. He had also kept their wedding rings all this time – he hadn't really been sure why – but now, as he looked at Justin's unique attempt at proposing to him, he thought he knew the reason why.

Rising from his chair now, he slowly walked out into the hallway and down toward the kitchen. As he stood there in the entrance, he observed Justin standing over the stove, slowly stirring a large pot of something that smelled like cinnamon on the stove. The aroma wafted over to him, reminding him of a concoction his partner had always made when it got cold – some sort of spiced apple cider. He couldn't help smiling at the rather domestic picture in front of him – the man he loved wearing a apron and humming some sort of unrecognizable tune as he continued to stir the seasonal drink with a wooden spoon.

Something made Justin turn just then. He hadn't really heard a noise; it was just a feeling that he was being watched. As he turned around, he smiled as he observed Brian standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb. His heart made a little lurch as he noticed Brian was holding part of the newspaper in his hand.

"How's Tom doing?" Brian asked him softly, nodding his head toward the oven.

Justin smiled almost shyly, his heart beating rapidly. He knew why Brian was standing there, and it wasn't because he was interested in their turkey. "I think he's going to live – or maybe, in this case, die," he answered, twisting his mouth. "At least he's not charred and black yet, anyway."

Brian stood straight up and began to walk over to his partner. "That's good," he murmured, his eyes locked on the blond's. "By the way, I just saw one of his relatives in the paper. Very handsome fellow, too." Brian was now close enough to Justin to touch him, but he hesitated, his eyes continuing to gaze into his partner's.

"You did, did you?" Justin whispered tentatively. He thought he knew what Brian's answer to his question would be, but the man never failed to surprise him sometimes. He was just hoping that this wouldn't be one of those times…..Despite telling Brian earlier that they didn't need rings or vows to prove their love, that didn't mean that he still didn't want them….

"Uh, huh," Brian whispered huskily, finally reaching up with his free hand to softly place it on Justin's warm cheek. Brian couldn't help noticing how blue Justin's eyes were, how they were so expressive. His eyes always told him what he needed to know, and the ones currently staring back at him were so full of love – for him. "I must say, though, Tom's relative is much more well-dressed than he is."

"Oh?"

"Yeah…..this one's wearing a tuxedo and a top hat. Sound familiar?" His eyebrows rose in a challenge as he waited for Justin's reply.

Justin licked his lips a little nervously. "Yeah….I might know something about it," he whispered, smiling just a little in acknowledgement. "What did you think of him?"

Brian leaned in until Justin could smell the other man's familiar, welcome scent and feel his warm breath caressing his face. "I think he's being ridiculously romantic, especially for a turkey who's meant to be someone's dinner. But he's got balls, though."

"Butterballs?"

Brian curled his lips under in amusement. "You could say that. Would you believe he had enough balls to propose in the paper?"

Justin eye's shone as he smiled softly at his partner, his first love and, if he had anything to say about it, his last one, too. "You don't say?"

Brian leaned in even closer, placing his hands on the stove to either side of Justin's slender body, noticing his breath coming out now in ragged, anxious pants as his eyes widened slightly in response. "Mm, hmm," he answered softly. "He sure did. You know what I think about that?"

Justin's eyes couldn't pull away from the other man's; he had always been so mesmerized by Brian's eyes – depending on his mood, they could be green and animated like shallow, crystal-clear sea water, or as dark as night when he was aroused, angry or passionate. Right now, as he stared into the familiar depths, he noticed they were wide open, flecked with dazzling flashes of gold. All Justin could do was hold his breath and shake his head in response; his heart was in his throat as he waited for Brian's response.

Brian smiled gently. "I think he'd be a damn fool to pass up that sort of invitation, don't you?"

Justin's heart sang at those words as he broke out into a broad smile now. "Yeah, I sure do," he readily answered, just before Brian swooped in to pull him toward him for a deep kiss. As the brunet hoisted him up and swung him around the kitchen, Justin decided that his first Thanksgiving dinner at Britin was going to be a good one after all.